<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Lessons in French and Other Things by RoswellSmokingWoman</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23484523">Lessons in French and Other Things</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoswellSmokingWoman/pseuds/RoswellSmokingWoman'>RoswellSmokingWoman</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Hornibal, M/M, Matchmaking, but not really, kind of crack</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 08:29:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,393</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23484523</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoswellSmokingWoman/pseuds/RoswellSmokingWoman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham is going to fail French, he swears. He needs a tutor. He reluctantly agrees to help from Hannibal Lecter, who has own issues to deal with concerning one Will Graham.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alana Bloom/Beverly Katz, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>150</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Lessons in French and Other Things</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/gifts">whiskeyandspite</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is different from everything I've written so far, but I hope you enjoy it all the same.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>              The French lecture would begin in a few moments, but Will had arrived early. He’s not one for showing up late to class. The only other student here, sitting two rows behind him, is Hannibal Lecter. He knows from the overbearing air that surrounds him and the squeak of his rubber soled Italian leather shoes. He does his best to avoid him.</p><p>              Will looks down into his phone, Beverly sending him messages a mile a minute:</p><p>              Bev: Fancy Pants sighting, walking into the cafeteria.</p><p>              Bev: Update, after scoffing, Fancy Pants refuses to eat the cafeteria food. He thinks it’s beneath</p><p>              him.</p><p>              Bev: Fancy Pants is approaching the lecture hall.</p><p>              Bev: Are you already there Will?</p><p>              Bev: RIP</p><p>              Beverly plops down next to him and takes his phone out of his hands. “Why do I ever try?” she bemoans.</p><p>              “I’m not a slave to my phone,” Will replies.</p><p>               “Why not just play along? It’s fun.”</p><p>              “Yeah, yeah. Lecture starts in a minute. Let me get my things out. I need to pass the next exam.”</p><p>****</p><p>              And Will does, in fact, need to pass his next exam. He looks at his quiz paper, red marks across each page. A staggering thirty-seven percent. Beverly looks at his grade and shrugs sympathetically.</p><p>              “I didn’t do much better,” she assures him.</p><p>              “Yeah because seventy-three isn’t much better than thirty-seven. They contain the same numbers after all. Give me a break. I’m going to have to retake this class, at this rate.”</p><p>              “Maybe you just need a tutor,” Beverly suggests.</p><p>              “A tutor wouldn’t be such a bad idea, Mr. Graham,” Professor Crawford chimes in, having overheard their conversation. “Come here, let me give you the card of a student in this class. I’m sure they’d love to help.”</p><p>              Graham rolls his eyes at Beverly before coming up to Professor Crawford and taking the card. Hannibal’s name and number in gold embossed cursive jump at him. Of course, he would have such a business card.</p><p>              “I can’t tell you how well he’s doing in this class, but I can tell you that you’ll benefit from some lessons with him. What do you think?”</p><p>              “I’ll see if I can work anything out. Thanks.” Will knows it’s a lie.</p><p>              He and Beverly walk out of class together, Beverly silent until they’re far enough away from the lecture hall. “Who’s the tutor?”</p><p>              “I’m not telling.”</p><p>              Beverly reaches into his pants pocket to pull out the card, “It’s Fancy Pants!”</p><p>              “Exactly why I’m going to take the F and move on with my life.”</p><p>              “No no no. You cannot do that to me Will. This is the perfect experiment.”</p><p>              “What the fuck are you talking about, Bev?”</p><p>              “You’re going to get the inside deets on how his mind works. Does he eat? Does he shit? Does he always wear those three-piece suits? I need to know, Will. AND he’ll help you pass. What about this seems so bad to you?”</p><p>              Will snatches the card from her hands. “It’s Hannibal fucking Lecter, that’s what.”</p><p>              “Just think about it. Okay?”</p><p>              “Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.”</p><p>              Will heads back to the dorm rooms, Beverly waving him goodbye. He sees her meeting with Alana out of the corner of his eyes, and he smiles to himself. He snaps a picture of them and sends one to her.</p><p>              Will: Caught ya.</p><p>              Bev: Totally not cool. We’re too cute for your stalker bullshit.</p><p>              Will: Have fun with your GF.</p><p>              Bev: Have fun with Hannibannanafanny</p><p>****</p><p>              Beverly owes him a meal swipe at the meal exchange for this, he thinks to himself as he walks into the library looking around. He seats himself in the remotest corner after not finding Hannibal. His phone goes off.</p><p>              Bev: How’s it going?</p><p>              Will: No sign of snooty-Mc-snooterton.</p><p>              Bev: Never thought he’d be the fashionably late type.</p><p>              “Will?” Hannibal’s voice calls out.</p><p>              Will looks up from his phone to find Hannibal standing in front of the table, books in his hands. His hair is slightly disheveled. It brings him down to earth a bit, but not quite.</p><p>              “I got lost in the books, finding materials for today. I’m sorry if I’ve kept you waiting,” Hannibal continues, sitting down next to Will.</p><p>              “It’s not a problem.”</p><p>              To his surprise, Will does learn from Hannibal. Their tutoring session goes relatively well, with no hiccups save for the incessant buzzing of his phone from Beverly.</p><p>****</p><p>              Will Graham is perhaps the most beautiful man Hannibal has ever met. Hannibal was sure of it, from the moment he lays eyes on that lithe body, those perfect brown curls, and those nearly irresistible lips. French-I quickly turns into a study on Will Graham. His notebook becomes filled with drawings of him, a pencil eraser against his lips, his hands gripping a pen. As the weeks pass, the drawings become progressively less tame. It’s why Hannibal sits in the rear of the class, without a single student surrounding him.</p><p>              When he receives a text from Will asking for help, he’s overjoyed. His heart pounds as he reads the text over and over, imagining how their time together would be spent. He’d always had the impression that Will was not fond of him, that his infatuations is unrequited.</p><p>              Perhaps, Hannibal thinks to himself, he could change that.</p><p>              French is the perfect language for romance, after all.</p><p>****</p><p>              Hannibal bolts into his dorm, shutting the door behind him, his pants straining to contain the evidence of his dallying thoughts. This was a terrible idea, Hannibal concludes. He would bring himself to shame in front of Will if he couldn’t compose himself.</p><p>              The French lessons cannot continue.</p><p>              He would have to tell their Professor that Will would need a different tutor.</p><p>              Hannibal takes his phone into his hands. He needs some music for what he’s about to do. Something slow, heavy, to set his imagination into motion. Just then he receives a text from Will, short and sweet.</p><p>              Will: Thank you, Hannibal.</p><p>              Hannibal tosses the phone on his bed, removing his pants.</p><p>              These French lessons must continue.</p><p>****</p><p>              Hannibal scooches closer to Will, noting the scent of his cologne. Hannibal bites his lips as Will translates the paragraph, keeping an eye out for mistakes. The paragraph is nearly complete, but Will makes a mistake. Hannibal grabs the pencil from Will’s hand, his fingertips brushing over Will’s.</p><p>              “Here, just a small correction.” Hannibal circles a word. “The conjugation is wrong here.”</p><p>              Will nods, taking the pencil back, correcting himself.</p><p>              “You’re doing well,” Hannibal assures him.</p><p>              Many of their lessons go on like this, Hannibal so close to Will that it hurts, his brain growing fuzzier with each passing minute. He thinks he’s insane to continue, but it’s the only way he can be near Will.</p><p>****</p><p>              Beverly places her tray down next to Will’s, staring at him intently. She contains the onslaught of words for a minute, giving Will a chance to fill her in without prompting. Her impatience gets the better of her.</p><p>              “How was it? I need to know. Damnit, Graham you didn’t respond to a single text.”</p><p>              “You’re obsessed. It’s sick,” Will spits back, taking a bite from his banana. As his lips touch the fruit, he grows flushed, a flicker of Hannibal’s lips entering his mind. How they form French words, the crookedness of his teeth peaking through soft pink.</p><p>              “Were you learning the French language or something else French?” Beverly asks, noticing her friend’s reddening face.</p><p>              “I think I’ll pass the test. He’s a good tutor,” Will manages. “He’s not so bad, actually.”</p><p>              “You like him,” Beverly presses on. “I always assumed you were a hermit, not the relationship type.”</p><p>              “He’s my tutor, Bev. You don’t even like him.”</p><p>              Beverly smiles deviously, looking at her plate. “I never said that.”</p><p>              “Are you trying to get me laid, Katz? With Fancy Pants?”</p><p>              “Well, I thought he’s wrapped up in nice packaging. And you seemed so keen on hating him, that maybe, just maybe…”</p><p>              “I’m not interested.”</p><p>              Beverly puts her hands in front of her in defense. “Hey, it was worth a shot. I was wrong, it’s alright.”</p><p>              Will nods, taking another bite out of the banana. “At least I think I’ll pass this class.”</p><p>              “Are you still going to have session with him?”</p><p>              “None of your fucking business.”</p><p>****</p><p>              Will proudly places his exam in front of Hannibal, an A at the top of the page. “You’re a miracle worker,” he tells him.</p><p>              “You’re the one who did the studying. Good job.”</p><p>              “Seriously, you’re saving my ass in this class.”</p><p>              <em>“I’d like to do other things to that ass,”</em> Hannibal thinks to himself, sighing. “I didn’t want to tell you over text. But I think I shouldn’t be your tutor, anymore,” Hannibal confesses.</p><p>              “You just helped me get an A. You can’t do this?”</p><p>              “You got a better grade on the exam than I did,” Hannibal confesses. “I find that I don’t have enough time to study if I take on too many students. You’re smart, you just need to apply yourself more. I think you don’t need a tutor, honestly.”</p><p>              Will takes a seat across from Hannibal, feeling slightly heartbroken. He’d grown fond of the strange student in only a few sessions. He wasn’t used to this feeling, the one building inside of him now. He wants to shout at Hannibal for abandoning him.</p><p>              “You? Come on, I’m sure you didn’t do that bad.”</p><p>              Hannibal pulls his exam out of his backpack, a D on top of it. “Really, I’m not lying. Professor Crawford agreed to let me retake it. He thinks I was distracted, I let him believe that.”</p><p>              “Are you distracted, Hannibal?” Will asks him then.</p><p>              Hannibal bites his lower lips, before taking a chance. He should ask first. He should test the waters more. But he doesn’t. He presses a kiss onto Will Graham’s lips, soft and tentative. To his surprise, Will leans into the kiss before parting from him.</p><p>              “Yes, I’m distracted by you, Will,” Hannibal confesses.</p><p>              Panic wells up within Will who stands from his chair, stumbling backwards. “Maybe you’re right. We shouldn’t do this, anymore. Thanks for the help, Hannibal. And, uh, good luck.” Will finds himself running away in the direction of the dorms, his feet hitting the tiled floors.</p><p>              Hannibal watches Will as he runs away, closing his eyes before burying the rejection and returning to the textbooks on the table. He knew this was a possibility when he’d taken the risk.</p><p>****</p><p>              Beverly knocks furiously on Will’s door, shouting, “Open up, Graham. I haven’t seen you in classes all day. You’re not allowed to sulk. Tell me what’s wrong. I won’t leave.”</p><p>              Will lurches off of bed, wrapping a blanket around himself as a cape, before opening the door to find Beverly sitting on the floor, her legs crossed. “You are the most annoying creature.”</p><p>              “You adore me.”</p><p>              Beverly sees the red under his eyes. “Have you slept at all?”</p><p>              “Not really.”</p><p>              “You know, Alana’s friends with Hannibal.”</p><p>              “Come on in,” Will tells her, opening his door more.</p><p>              Beverly takes a seat on his twin sized bed, leaning her back to the concrete wall. “Apparently Hannibal’s been crazy about you for a while.”</p><p>              “I had no idea,” Will confesses.</p><p>              “He’s not your tutor, anymore?”</p><p>              “I thought it was for the best.”</p><p>              “And here you are sulking.”</p><p>              “I’m confused… I… Hannibal kissed me.”</p><p>              Beverly opens her mouth in shock, pushing herself off the bed and going for Will’s minifridge. “I know you have some whiskey in here.”</p><p>              “I drank the last of it last night.”</p><p>              “So, let me get this straight. You don’t like Hannibal. He becomes your tutor. You like Hannibal. Hannibal likes you. You kiss. And then your stupid ass breaks his heart?”</p><p>              “I panicked. And then I thought better than to start a relationship. I mean, look at me. I live alone, no roommate. I don’t really have many friends other than you. I have no money. Hannibal’s the opposite. He dresses like a male model in a Tom Ford ad. He has money. He’s surrounded by friends. He’s smart. I mean maybe not so smart if he fell for me.”</p><p>              “You know, Hannibal’s been in Alana’s room for three hours in his pajamas—he doesn’t sleep in three-piece suits, after all—telling her everything. Hannibal’s thinking about withdrawing from French. I promised Alana I would see how you’re doing, and also to see if you’d just talk to him.”</p><p>              “He shouldn’t withdraw. I don’t want drama.”</p><p>              “Tell him that yourself,” Beverly demands. “So I can have my girlfriend back.”</p><p>              “Alright. Let me get dressed and I’ll ping him. I hate university.”</p><p>              “Don’t we all?” Beverly walks to the door, turning to face Will one last time, “I hope you feel better soon, Will, whatever you decide.”</p><p>****</p><p>              Hannibal doesn’t respond to his texts, which Will hadn’t expected. Hannibal’s stronger than he’d thought. Instead, Will takes it upon himself to search for Hannibal on the campus. Alana is with Beverly; Hannibal having left moments ago. The library is a bust. Will eventually finds Hannibal in the courtyard, sketching. He approaches Hannibal slowly, his hands stuffed in his pockets.</p><p>              “Hey,” he breathes.</p><p>              “Hello, Will,” Hannibal responds without looking up from his drawing.</p><p>              “Can we talk?”</p><p>              “There isn’t anything to talk about. I believe you’ve made yourself perfectly clear,” Hannibal insists, setting his sketchbook down.</p><p>              Will sits down next to him, looking up at the tree. Hannibal had picked the perfect spot, shade covering both of them, the view in front of them beautiful. Will shifts uncomfortably, his heartbeat quickening.</p><p>              “You failed your exam because of me?” Will asks.</p><p>              “I’m acting like a teenager,” Hannibal laughs. “It’s quite stupid.”</p><p>              “I think I’m the idiot,” Will counters, taking Hannibal’s hand into his own. “Beverly’s been trying to get me to pay attention to you for a while. I just never really thought about it. Until I started getting lessons from you. And then I don’t know, I guess I learned better because the French reminds me of you. I haven’t gone to any of my classes, kicking myself in the butt. You’re all I’ve been thinking about.”</p><p>              Hannibal holds his breath, listening to every single word from Will. “You ran away.”</p><p>              “I shouldn’t have.”</p><p>              “Can I kiss you again?” Hannibal asks.</p><p>              “I’m wondering what took you so long,” Will replies, leaning into Hannibal.</p><p>              This time he doesn’t run away.</p><p>             </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>